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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27478096">On Me...or on You?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiraelClayr007/pseuds/LiraelClayr007'>LiraelClayr007</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Chef Sam Winchester, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, Waiter Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 19:48:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,275</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27478096</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiraelClayr007/pseuds/LiraelClayr007</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean just wants to get through the night, waiting tables and chatting with his friend Charlie behind the bar.</p><p>Cas just wants to get through dinner with his brother.</p><p>A chance meeting just has to make their evenings better...how could things possibly get worse??</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester (Implied)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>75</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Takeout Tacos</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>On Me...or on You?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>*waves*</p><p>Hi! A couple days ago I took a few hours and wrote this (live!) with my friends on one of my discord servers. This is for you, tacos!! 🌮</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Dean! Table six has been waiting for almost ten minutes. And I can’t see that guy’s face, but his posture is very tense.”</p><p>“You know I suck at this, Charlie.” Dean checks all his pockets for his pen, comes up empty, then sighs thankfully when Charlie hands him one from behind the bar.</p><p>Nodding, Charlie says, “You really do. But you’re stuck. We all are, really. So go take care of the guys at table six and then go see if the rowdies in the corner need refills.”</p><p>Dean grimaces. “Do I have to?”</p><p>Charlie grins. “They’ll probably be obnoxious, but they’ll be good tippers. Trust me.”</p><p>“I can’t believe I’m working for tips,” he grumbles, pulling out his notebook.</p><p>“Just show ‘em that smile, Dean. You can’t lose!” she teases.</p><p>Dean wishes it worked that way. He really is terrible at this job. Sam–his brother–is lucky they’re close, and he doesn’t hold all those childhood pranks against him. If he was one to hold a grudge about the shaving cream in his shoes, or the saran wrap on the toilet (although really Dean feels like he deserved that one, since it was April Fool’s Day and he wasn’t smart enough to <em>look</em>) he’d be out of here in a heartbeat. But he loves his brother, dorky guy that he is. Despite his fascination with computers and his propensity to spend most of his free time with his nose in a book, he’s a fantastic chef, and he’s worked hard to build this place into what it is.</p><p>It’s not Sam’s fault he has one waitress out on maternity leave and had another ask for sudden time off to visit her sick mom in Idaho. It <em>is</em> Sam’s fault he’s got irresistible puppy dog eyes, but that’s really <em>Dean’s</em> problem, not Sam’s.</p><p>Two men sit at table six, and Charlie’s right, the dark haired one looks...tense. The other one, smaller, with longish, light brown hair, seems in a fine mood, though. Actually, he looks like not much could get him down. He’s–Dean blinks, then looks again. Yeah, he’d seen right the first time. The guy is sucking on a bright red lollipop.</p><p>Huh. Something new every day, right?</p><p>Dean pastes a smile onto his face and steps up to the table. “Hi, welcome to The Bunker. I’m Dean, I’ll be your server tonight. Can…”</p><p>And then his thoughts fall out of his head, because the dark haired guy looks up at him, and it doesn’t even matter that he’s glaring. He’s the most beautiful man Dean’s ever seen. Sexy hair, right on the line between black and brown, standing out in all directions like someone’s been running her–<em>his?</em>–fingers through it. Piercing blue eyes. And he’s not smiling now, but somehow Dean can tell he’s got a showstopper. There are faint lines at the corners of his eyes that show that they’ll just crinkle up when he smiles.</p><p>Dean wants to feel the weight of that smile.</p><p>“Do you think we could possibly have something to drink? We’ve been waiting for awhile,” the man says, and Dean’s nearly struck dumb again by his voice, low and rough and mesmerizing, even when it’s speaking somewhat angrily at him.</p><p>Unfortunately, Dean’s mouth chooses this moment to speak without permission from his brain.</p><p>“Oh, you can have whatever you’d like, darlin’.” The words pop out, dripping with innuendo, followed by that smile Charlie’d mentioned.</p><p>And then his ears hear what he’d said, and he feels the blush taking over his face.</p><p>“I mean–uh–oh <em>fuck</em>,” Dean says, and then he realizes he probably shouldn’t swear in front of customers either. Sam’s going to murder him.</p><p>The light haired man slurps his lollipop and then cackles. “I like this one, Cassie. You should keep him.”</p><p>“Gabriel. I did not ask for your opinion. And I didn’t even want to come here with you. If you can’t keep your...your <em>comments</em>...to yourself, I’m leaving now. And you can find your own way home.”</p><p>“I’ll be good,” Gabriel says, and he looks almost chastised. “You have to stay, Castiel. Trust me, the food here is excellent. And the <em>desserts</em>..” He looks up at Dean. “Is Eileen here tonight?”</p><p>Dean, surprised, just nods.</p><p>“I don’t know where she was trained, but Eileen makes the best desserts around.”</p><p>Finally finding his voice again, Dean says, “She got her start in New York City. She worked in some pretty high class places there, actually.”</p><p>The dark haired man–Cassie? Castiel?–tilts his head and asks, “What’s she doing in <em>Kansas</em>?”</p><p>Dean smiles at this, a secret kind of smile. “She fell in love.”</p><p>Neither of them has a response to this, and an awkward silence falls over the table. Finally Dean remembers that, oh yeah, he’s supposed to be <em>working</em> here, and he manages to take their drink orders without incident. He brings them to Charlie, slumping down on one of the barstools and repeatedly hitting his forehead on the worn wood of the bar.</p><p>Charlie, her usual buoyant self, snatches his notepad from his hand and goes about mixing the drinks. After about a minute he sits up and looks at her, and she grins. “Well, that seems promising.”</p><p>“Were you watching some alternate version of Dean Winchester? One who didn’t act like an idiot in front of a customer–<em>twice</em>–and ruin any chance he could possibly have with the most attractive guy he’s ever seen?”</p><p>Shrugging, Charlie says, “He didn’t slap you. And he didn’t leave. And his brother seems to like you.”</p><p>“I guess he–wait, his <em>brother</em>? Charlie, do you know more than you’re saying here?”</p><p>Charlie doesn’t even have the decency to look embarrassed, but of course she doesn’t really have an embarrassed face. “Maybe,” she says, smiling sweetly. “But it’s nothing nefarious. Just a little harmless...hope.”</p><p>“Charlie,” Dean says, and there’s warning in his voice.</p><p>“Gabriel comes in here a lot, okay? He <em>loves</em> Eileen’s desserts, I’m pretty sure he’s had all of them at least twice, and he’s pretty fond of Sam’s cooking too. He saw you one day, and we got to chatting, and he mentioned his brother, and…” She shrugs. Then she leans across the bar, grinning. “He’s dreamy, right? <em>Just</em> your type. And did you see his arms? I mean, he’s certainly not <em>my</em> type, but those are nice arms. I’m pretty sure about that.”</p><p>“Yeah, they really–” Dean starts, then he glares at her. “Charlie! You know how I feel about being set up. Not like it matters, since I already blew it.”</p><p>Waving her hand dismissively, Charlie says, “Oh, you did not. Here. Take them their drinks and tell them–while you look at Cas–that they’re on you. Trust me, you’ll be fine.”</p><p>“Cas,” he says. He likes the way the name feels in his mouth. Charlie grins.</p><p>Dean takes the tray of drinks uncertainly, but as he’s walking to the table his confidence grows. Sure, it means buying drinks for the two men, but it’ll be worth it means he’s still got a shot with Cas. </p><p>“Hey,” he says as he walks up to the table. “Sorry about earlier. I’m not–well, anyway. Let me make it up to you. Drinks are on me, okay?”</p><p>Gabriel’s smiling, and Cas seems to be softening, but then something goes horribly wrong. Just as Dean says “okay” his foot finds a spot in the carpet or a chair leg that shouldn’t be there or something; whatever it is, it causes Dean to stumble forward, and the drinks slide off the end of the tray and right into Cas’s face. He looks up at Dean, hair plastered to his head, the skewer of pineapple and cherries from Gabriel’s drink sticking out of his collar. He looks less than pleased.</p><p>“Oh,” Dean says, a horrified tone in his voice. “Oh fuck. Oh dammit I said fuck again. Oh...Ah, I’m so, so sorry. Can I...can I help?”</p><p>Cas’s gaze is almost painful. “I’m fairly certain you’ve helped enough, Dean.”</p><p>The words sting. “Yeah,” he says softly. “Look, I’ll send Charlie over to help you clean up, she’ll take care of you. I’m really–” But he looks at Cas, and his heart breaks a little at a connection missed, or lost, and he doesn’t apologize again. Once was enough. Instead he says, “I hope you’ll come back again. Sam’s cooking, Eileen’s baking, even Charlie’s drinks. They’re all worth it. The Bunker is a good place.” </p><p>He nods his head a little, waves Charlie over and goes to check on the booth in the corner. He smiles his charming smile, brings the rowdy, celebrating girls all the drinks and desserts they want, and by the time he’s finished taking care of them, Cas and Gabriel are gone.</p><p>Charlie’s right though. The girls are great tippers.</p><p> </p><p>Dean’s warming up the next night when there’s a knock on his door. He looks up from his bench to see Charlie leaning against the doorframe, an odd smile on her face.</p><p>“There’s someone here to see you, Dean,” she says. He can’t quite get a read on her voice. She sounds like she’s hiding something, but he can’t figure out what.</p><p>He glances at the clock on the wall. “I’ll be out in ten minutes, same as always.</p><p>“You can’t come out now?”</p><p>He’s annoyed, but only slightly. “I never come out early, Charlie. It breaks the routine. Ten minutes.” He looks at the clock again. “Actually, nine now. Now get out of here so I can get ready.”</p><p>“But Dean–”</p><p>“Out, Charlie.”</p><p>She leaves.</p><p>Dean spends a moment or two thinking about the oddness of the encounter; Charlie knows his routines, and knows not to disrupt them. But then he gets back to getting into the mindset he needs, pushing Charlie from his thoughts. He’ll figure her out later.</p><p> </p><p>When Dean steps out onto the small stage wedged into the corner of the dining room there’s a smattering of applause. He smiles and waves then sits down at the baby grand piano that fills the stage. “Hey Baby,” he murmurs, running a hand along the smooth wood. The piano’s been his as long as he can remember; he started taking lessons when he was five and he’s been enchanted by her ever since. He started singing along when he was seven, and started writing his own songs when he was ten. When Sam bought the space for The Bunker he made sure there was a place big enough for Dean to play–because that was what they did. Sam played with food and Dean played with music. This was a way for them to work together.</p><p>There are lights in his eyes, so Dean can’t really see into the dining room unless he squints, and it’s usually not all that important to him. He just lives with the music, sometimes doing covers, sometimes doing his own stuff. And everyone seems to like what he does, so he just keeps on doing it his way.</p><p>He can’t really see, so he’s surprised when just before he starts the first song, he hears a voice say, “Dean?” It’s a voice he recognizes, a voice that sends a spark down his spine.</p><p>His hands slip onto the keys, discordant notes ringing out through the dining room. “Sorry,” he says, flashing his charming grin at the room. “Just a little startled. Can you all give me just a moment?” He keeps up the smile, then steps to the edge of the stage.</p><p>“Cas?” And there he is, dark hair disheveled, blue eyes confused, sitting alone at the table nearest the stage.</p><p>“I don’t understand,” Cas says. “I thought you…”</p><p>Dean rubs at the back of his neck, an embarrassed grin on his face. “Nah, I was just helping out last night. Trust me, I’m not meant to be a server. I’m the talent. I also happen to be the owner’s brother, which is how I got wrangled into helping when two of his waitresses were out. Trust me, he doesn’t ask me often, I’m horrible at the job.”</p><p>“I noticed,” Cas says dryly.</p><p>Dean only laughs.</p><p>Cas looks at the piano on the stage, then back at Dean. “So you...play?”</p><p>“And sing. Which I should be doing now. Stick around until my break?” He doesn’t know why, he has no right to even hope, but he thinks Cas might agree.</p><p>He does.</p><p> </p><p>THREE MONTHS LATER</p><p>“Thanks everyone, you’ve been great,” Dean says, stepping off the stage and meandering through the dining room towards the bar. He accepts compliments from several diners, offering smiles and the occasional handshake. He’s at ease among the crowd, but he’s got a destination in mind, and it’s not until he climbs onto a barstool that he feels truly happy.</p><p>“Hello Dean,” Cas says, turning to smile at him.</p><p>Dean had been right. That smile, it knocks him out every time.</p><p>He slips an arm around Cas’s waist and drops a kiss on his shoulder. “Hey Cas. Missed you.”</p><p>“You saw me two hours ago,” Cas says.</p><p>“It was a long and difficult two hours,” Dean pouts.</p><p>Cas huffs a laugh. “You were at a piano, Dean. You probably didn’t even notice time passing.”</p><p>Dean smiles into Cas’s shoulder. “Alright, it felt like a few minutes. But I still missed you.” He looks up into Cas’s eyes, says, “I’m on my break. Let me buy you a drink?”</p><p>Cas’s eyes crinkle when he smiles. “Nah,” he says, waving Charlie over. “That’s dangerous. This time the drinks are on me.”</p>
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